


Absolution

by lindenmae



Series: Bless me, Father [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenmae/pseuds/lindenmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The steps to the Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation are as follows: Contrition, Confession, Absolution, and Satisfaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> G finally finds happiness in his life and Knuckle finds happiness in having helped G onto the right path.

 

 

Ave Maria, gratia plena,  
Dominus tecum,  
benedicta tu in mulieribus,  
et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus.  
Sancta Maria mater Dei,  
ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.  
 _Amen_

Six months had passed since Daemon Spade’s betrayal, since their little family had nearly been ripped apart, and would have been if not for the utter strength of their bonds.  Six months since G had come to his room and the world had come crashing down around them, since they had maybe-not-quite willingly jumped over the edge of their emotional cliffs and drowned each other in the frothing waves of emotion below. 

Knuckle had come out of it feeling stronger, surprised with himself at his own stability.  He’d prayed harder and longer in those first few days afterwards, determined that the sense of peace he felt could not be right.  Violence did not beget peace but it was peace that he felt.  Something had cracked inside of him and everything he’d ever held back had come rushing forth to envelop him.  He _felt_ in ways that he hadn’t since he’d taken his vows, in ways that he hadn’t let himself believing it to be wrong.  But in the six months since that fateful night, he’d come to embrace his feelings and his needs, because he was only human and it was cruel to himself, trying to force himself into becoming something he wasn’t.  And suddenly his vows seemed easier, now that he’d become willing to admit his own faults. 

He hadn’t been able to help G because he’d never taken the necessary step back and really looked at how broken he was himself.  He didn’t pray with desperation anymore, hoping that reciting words in his head would somehow solve the problems with which he was faced.  Now he prayed for the sake of praying, for the clarity it gave him, and the happiness.  He finally felt complete, no longer searching for something intangible and constantly just out of his grasp.

A lesser man would not have been able to forgive G for his transgressions.  A lesser man would harbor hatred in his heart for the Storm Guardian who had belittled and taunted and forced Knuckle.  A lesser man may even have fallen in love with his tormentor, would have taken that need to fix what was broken and destroyed himself with it.  But Knuckle was not a lesser man and as perverse as it was, he fully believed he had G to thank for helping him realize that.  He did not hate G and, in fact, he still loved him like a brother, fiercely loyal and protective.  They were not meant for each other in this lifetime and Knuckle did not find himself bothered by that so much anymore. 

It was not painful to see G with Ugetsu either, to see the way G’s eyes followed Ugetsu’s movements with warmth and not the malice with which they had always been set upon Knuckle.  He could almost honestly say that it warmed him to see all of G’s hard angles softened and smoothed by the swordsman. He had been able to see how well they suited each other, long before G had, when they were just partners, when Ugetsu was the only one of the Guardians save Giotto that G ever wanted to work with because he was the only one G felt he could trust.  And that was something that had been always lacking between G and Knuckle, trust.  There had been too much animosity, too much desperation between them to ever allow trust.  But now, Knuckle felt that perhaps they could begin to trust one another.

Something had changed irrevocably between them on the night of Daemon Spade’s betrayal.  It had been an explosive, destructive change that had wrenched them apart and built them back up anew like no other confrontation between them ever had.  They had been angling towards that moment for so long and the fireworks that had come of it had been no less spectacular than promised.  And it had released something in both of them, freed them somehow, put them on separate paths that ran perfectly parallel to each other instead of constantly crossing and tripping them up.  Knuckle watched G and Ugetsu together and he was happy for them, for they had found love and they had found the necessary parts in each other to complete themselves.  And Knuckle was meant to abhor something so outside of convention, but he didn’t, not if it meant the people he loved were happy.  They were not a conventional family and he doubted that in coming generations they ever would be. 

He wasn’t expecting G to come to him again, but when the doors to the chapel opened and those familiar footsteps echoed about the small room, he knew it couldn’t be anyone else.  He tensed out of habit, but, when he turned his eyes on G, the man was smiling softly, shoulders hunched as if he expected to be thrown out, something he would never have allowed before.  It was clear in G’s expression that he felt he had no right to set foot onto hallowed ground, like he expected to be struck dead at any moment, or roughly turned away, but Knuckle only offered him a soft look in return and spread his hands wide, welcoming him.

G stepped forward and lifted one fist, and it was only then that Knuckle noticed there was something clenched in it.  When G opened his fingers, Knuckle saw it was his rosary, gone missing that night six months ago.

“I took it from you when I left.  I felt so guilty, I…  I don’t know why I took it, but I felt like I needed it.  I don’t think I need it anymore.”  He spoke slowly, unsure of himself in a way Knuckle had never seen.

Knuckle stared at the wooden necklace, at the cross dangling from G’s palm, and smiled.  The tension was gone from his body and instead he felt relaxed.

“Keep it.  Maybe you’ll have a need for it again, someday.”

G looked hesitantly at him and then down at the rosary, deciding if he should force Knuckle to take it back, but then curled his fingers back around it and snuck it into his pocket.

“I have never truly apologized to you and I don’t know that I can do it now.  I treated you horribly but all those times you tried to reach me, I think you were.  I think I would be dead now if not for you, following me around with your prayers.  You are a strong man, Knuckle.  I do not know how you do it.”

G’s voice was soft, as if it was hard for him to get the words out, but the soft smile was still there and Knuckle didn’t begrudge him.  They’d helped each other, albeit in the most destructive way possible, but sometimes that was what it took to get two stubborn men to see their own shortcomings and overcome them.  And this time Knuckle touched G first, placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into a warm hug.  They supported each other, understanding and mutual forgiveness coloring the ambience of the room.  And then, without words, they parted, their eyes saying everything that would be too painful to speak. 

“We are brothers,” Knuckle said softly as G walked away.

“Brothers,” G repeated, nodding his head and clutching at the rosary in his pocket.

…

Later Knuckle walked the grounds, at night when Italian air was quiet, missing the green rolling hills of Ireland the way he was sure Ugetsu missed the snowy peaks of Japan, the cherry trees, and the regal grace.  He came upon G and Ugetsu, hidden away in the trees that shaded the grounds, speaking softly to each other, faces too close together and expressions soft and intangible.  He stayed back, because  it wasn’t his place to intrude but he watched as they kissed, tender and loving, and he felt a sharp pang in his chest at the way G caressed Ugetsu’s body, as gentle as if the man were not a master swordsman and just as capable of killing as G himself. 

They were beautiful together, two halves of a whole now that G had begun to believe himself worthy of Ugetsu’s admiration, though he’d had since the Japanese man had first seen him, everyone had known.  G doted on Ugetsu as if afraid the man would dissipate like a dream at too rough a touch, as if he still believed he did not fully deserve the love of another and was terrified of losing this gift that he couldn’t believe he had.  G touched Ugetsu like he had never touched Knuckle and Knuckle wasn’t jealous, because he understood, and he wasn’t sad, but there was some feeling inside of him he couldn’t name and it wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t strong enough to make his thoughts bitter. 

It was something just as simple as longing, he guessed, for a life he could have had, if he had chosen a different path.  Not in this life would he sit beneath the trees with a lover, touching them as if he believed them to be the most precious thing in the world.  But G would never have been his, this path or the next.  Had he chosen to continue fighting he may never have left Ireland, may never have been found by Giotto, would never have even met a boy with red hair and a pistol in his pocket.  If this was the closest to G that Knuckle could come, he would take it, and if it brought him relief to see his rosary wrapped around G’s wrist as he brought his hand up to cup Ugetsu’s jaw, then that was Knuckle’s to keep.

 


End file.
